A Christmas to Remember
Pa never had much compassion
for the lazy or those who squandered their
means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who
were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was
from him that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not
from receiving.
It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old
and feeling like the
world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to
buy me the rifle that I'd wanted so bad that year for Christmas.
We did the chores early that night for some reason.
I just figured Pa
wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible. So after
supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the
fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was still
feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood
to read scriptures.
But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up
and went outside. I
couldn't figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I
didn't worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in
self-pity.
Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice
in his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out
tonight." I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle
for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no
earthly reason that I could see.
We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't think of anything else
that needed doing, especially not on a night like this. But I knew Pa
was not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd told them to
do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got my cap,
coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door
to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what.
A Christmas to
Remember (cont.)
Outside, I became even more
dismayed. There in front of the house was
the work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were
going to do wasn't going to be a short, quick, little job. I could
tell. We never hitched up the big sled unless we were going to haul a
big load.
Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up
beside him. The cold was already biting at me.. I wasn't happy. When I
was on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the
woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high
sideboards," he said. "Here, help me." The high sideboards! It had been
a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but
whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high
sideboards on.
When we had exchanged the sideboards Pa went into the woodshed and came
out with an armload of wood---the wood I'd spent all summer hauling
down from the mountain, and then all fall sawing into blocks and
splitting. What was he doing? Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked,
"what are you doing?" "
You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked. The Widow Jensen
lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so
before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight.
Sure, I'd been by, but so what? "Yeah," I said, "why?"
"I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around
in the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt."
That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed
for another armload of wood. I followed him.
We loaded the sled so high that I began to wonder if the horses would
be able to pull it. Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we
went to the smoke house and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon.
He handed them to me and told me to put them in the sled and wait. When
he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder and
a smaller sack of something in his left hand.
"What's in the little sack?" I asked.
"Shoes. They're out of shoes. Little Jakey just had gunny sacks wrapped
around his feet when he was out in the wood-pile this morning. I got
the children a little candy too. It just wouldn't be Christmas without
a little candy."
A Christmas to
Remember (cont.)
We rode the two miles to Widow
Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried
to think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly
standards. Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what
was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw
into blocks and split before we could use it. We also had meat and
flour, so we could spare that, but I knew we didn't have any money, so
why was Pa buying them shoes and candy? Really, why was he doing any of
this? Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us. It shouldn't have been
our concern.
We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the
wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes
to the door.
We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said, "Who is it?"
"Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt. Could we come in for a bit?"
Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped
around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were
sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave
off any heat at all.
Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp. "We brought
you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put
the meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes
in it. She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out on e pair at a
time. There was a pair for her and one for each of the
children---sturdy shoes, the best, shoes that would last.
I watched her carefully. She bit her lower lip to keep it from
trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her
cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it
wouldn't come out.
"We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said, then he turned to me
and said, "Matt, go bring enough in to last for awhile. Let's get that
fire up to size and heat this place up."
A Christmas to
Remember (cont.)
I wasn't the same person when I
went back out to bring in the wood. I
had a big lump in my throat and, much as I hate to admit it, there were
tears in my eyes too.
In my mind I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace
and their mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks and
so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn't speak. My heart
swelled within me and a joy filled my soul that I'd never known before.
I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made
so much difference.
I could see we were literally saving the lives of these people. I soon
had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids started
giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen
looked on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for a long
time. She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the
Lord himself has sent you. The children and I have been praying that he
would send one of his angels to spare us."
In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled
up in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms
before, but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was
probably true. I was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked
the earth. I started remembering all the times he had gone out of his
way for Ma and me, and many others. The list seemed endless as I
thought on it.
Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed
when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get.
Then I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord
would make sure he got the right sizes.
Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face again when we stood up to
leave. Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug.
They clung to him and didn't want us to go. I could see that they
missed their pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.
At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to
invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The
turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get
cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to
get you about eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones around
again. Matt, here, hasn't been little for quite a spell." I was the
youngest. My two older brothers and two older sisters were all married
and had moved away. Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Brother
Miles. I don't have to say, "'May the Lord bless you,' I know for
certain that He will."
Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't
even notice the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and
said, "Matt, I want you to know something. Your ma and me have been
tucking a little money away here and there all year so we could buy
that rifle for you, but we didn't have quite enough. Then yesterday a
man who owed me a little money from years back came by to make things
square. Your ma and me were real excited, thinking that now we could
get you that rifle, and I started into town this morning to do just
that. But on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile
with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do.
So, Son, I spent the money for shoes and a little candy for those
children. I hope you understand."
I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood
very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Just then the rifle seemed
very low on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He had
given me the look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her
three children.
For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a
block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy
I felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than
a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.
Count your blessings everyday, slowly and thoughtfully.
-- Author Unknown
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Christmas to Remember
